


I Like My Nails Super

by laudatenium



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluffy, Gen, M/M, Nail Polish, The Avengers Have No Use for Traditional Geandered Shit, This Is STUPID, Tony Stark Has A Heart, i warned you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:33:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3115091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laudatenium/pseuds/laudatenium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of Bucky Barnes, and recovery through nail polish.</p><p>Or, how the OPI Avenger Designer Collection became the hottest selling lacquer of the year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Like My Nails Super

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [I Like My Nails Super 美甲联盟](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4989541) by [asadeseki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asadeseki/pseuds/asadeseki)



> Okay, I have the biggest headcanon that during his recovery, Bucky becomes addicted to nail polish.
> 
> Nothing else, just a bunch of idiots painting their nails for the sake of a friend (and finding they all love it).
> 
> Some of the color names belong to OPI, others I made up. There's also a comic panel talking about Natasha doing Tony's nails. Inspiration was drawn from everywhere, I guess.

It started off after Steve and Bucky came back from a mission where they had exterminated a Hydra cell.

 

After debriefing, they headed up to the common floor.  Bucky stood next to him, silent as he always was now.  In the six months that Bucky had been back, and the four months since it had been decided he could take up his place in the Avengers, yet Bucky was still closed off and quiet.

 

Steve didn’t know what to do.  He had refused to keep Bucky away from anything, remembering how he had felt during his integration process, but now he was wondering if the shock of it all had been too much.  Seventy years, aliens, Steve’s relationship with Howard’s son, it was all strange.  Steve wanted to help, but he couldn’t think of anything else to do.

 

“Just be there for him,” Natasha had told him.  “He’s reeling.  Let him open up in his own time, and in his own way.  He’s not taking the transition as easily as you.”  Which hadn’t been easily at all.

 

The living room is empty.

 

“JARVIS, where is everyone?”

 

 _“Thor is visiting with Doctor Foster this week.  Colonel Rhodes and Lieutenant Wilson have gone to visit the VA.  Sir, Agent Romanoff, Agent Barton, and Doctor Banner are in the salon on the third floor,”_ the AI answered.

 

“Can you take us there?”

 

_“Of course, Captain.  You as well, Sergeant Barnes?”_

 

Bucky jumped at being addressed, then gave a non-committal grunt.  JARVIS took it for a positive, and the doors to the elevator slid shut again.

 

Natasha and Tony liked to call getting their nails done “girl time”, and would drag Pepper along to join them whenever she was in town.  Tony rented out the salon, which was really more of a spa, once a week, or whenever he needed to look presentable for a red carpet event, so they could scrub the lines of motor oil out of the lines in his calluses.  They got mani-pedis, and sometimes massages (though, since they had been together, Tony preferred Steve to give him a massage).

 

When Steve and Bucky entered the room, Bruce was behind a curtain with a terrified massage technician, and the other three spread out it the fancy chairs they used for pedicures.  Natasha was sorting through a table of nail polish, Clint was eating the cucumbers from his face mask, and Tony was fussing with his phone while he got his toes done.

 

“Steve!” Tony called, and was helpless to resist marching over and giving Tony a kiss.  “Clint is a heathen.”

 

“Am not,” Clint murmured, munching on the rind of the cucumber slice.

 

“Who eats things off their face?”

 

“Who eats Captain America’s dick?” Clint retorted.

 

“That’s enough.  We are _relaxing_ ,” Natasha ordered as Clint and Tony growled at each other.

 

“I don’t know about them, but I’m relaxed,” Bruce’s blissed-out voice from his massage table.

 

Bucky was looking shifty.  Every few seconds, he would glance at the table covered in bottles of nail lacquer, then quickly glanced away.  Natasha noticed, too.

 

“Bucky,” Natasha asked gently.  “Do you want to get you nails done?”

 

Bucky tromped over to the table and poked through the bottles, gingerly pushing a hot pink towards a nail tech.

 

“ **That’s Berry Daring**.  Good choice.”

 

“How is it daring?”  Clint asked.

 

“That’s the name of the color, diphthong.  Get your hearing aids calibrated.”  Natasha was deciding between **An Affair In Red Square** , **Midnight In Moscow** , and **Russian Navy**.  “We can make this a group activity.  Everyone, pick a color.”  He tone left no room for debate.

 

“What’s that one called? ‘ **A Good Man-darin Is Hard To Find** ’?  Why haven’t I herd of this before?  That’s like my autobiography.  Put in on,” Tony demanded.

 

“If we’re all doing it, I’ll have **Black Cherry Chutney** ,” Bruce piped up unexpectedly.

 

“Gimmie **Vampsterdam** ,” Clint slapped his hand down, without even glancing at the bottles.  “What?  It’s my color.”

 

“Steve?” Bucky pleaded.

 

“Yeah, Steve!” Tony cheered.  “Paint on tiny versions of his shield!”

 

“No.”  Steve skimmed several bottles.  “I think I can handle **Big Apple Red**.”

 

“Boring,” Tony snorted.

 

“Traditional.”  And he sat down and allowed the nail tech to prep his cuticles.

 

 

 

It became a thing after that.  Occasionally, Bucky would go out to the Duane Reade and come home with several tiny bottles of lacquer and ask Natasha to do his nails.  It went on until Tony threatened to take away his StarkCard if he kept bringing home the shitty drugstore brands, and to get some professional grade next time.

 

That was when the shelf beneath the coffee table began to fill up with tiny bottles of Essie and OPI and Orly and Butter and China Glaze.  Bucky picked bright and dark colors, not content with the boring pale pinks and off-whites.  He liked the little decals, and the pens that Natasha got him for his birthday that he made Steve draw designs with, but his favorite by far were the glitter polishes, metallics, crackle finish, anything bright and funky.  There were pictures circulating of the Winter Soldier, Black Widow, and the Falcon getting lattes with their nails **Polka.com** , **Dating a Royal** , and **Need Sunglasses?** respectively.

 

(Also, people began to fear a metal hand tipped in glitter gloss.)

 

Everyone got into it, and it was . . . fun, Steve had to admit.  He didn’t like the crazy colors, but was willing to try the more muted, traditional colors.  Tony would try anything on the warm side of the color palette.   Sam liked anything bright.  Natasha liked anything dark.  Clint only wore purple, unless you painted arrow designs on.  Thor just picked the ones with the goofiest names.  Bruce liked calm colors.  Pepper refused anything that wasn’t a French manicure, but sat for hours letting Bucky practice.  Rhodey even got in on it, letting them do whatever.  It was taken advantage of all the time.

 

Steve didn’t much care for the polish, but he loved what it was doing.  Before, Bucky had been so withdrawn, hesitant to get involved to socializing.  Everyone had tried their best to get him involved, but it had never caught.  Now, slowly but surely, he was beginning to act like the smartass Steve had once know.  More mature, less happy-go-lucky, but more relaxed.  Like the nail polish was helping him unlock that old portion of himself.

 

Steve would prefer Bucky cover his shield in **Green-wich Village** rather than go back.

 

 

 

“Tony,” Steve said one night as he examined the dark blue-grey Natasha and Bucky had insisted on earlier (laughing uproariously at the name, **Nein! Nein! Nein! OK Fine!** ) as he brushed his teeth.  “It means a lot to me that you’re doing this.  Spending all this money on nail polishes for Bucky-“

 

“Not just for Bucky,” Tony corrected from over by the shower, where he was toweling off.  Steve didn’t know if he was more distracted by the naked skin or the **California Raspberry** on his nails.  “The team.  Everyone loves it.”

 

“It’s just-“ Steve spit out his toothpaste.  “I don’t have a problem with it-“

 

“Whoa, Steve don’t tell me you have a problem with Bucky being a little fast and loose with gender stereotypes.  Men can wear nail polish if they want.  I plan to have your dick in my ass in about twenty minutes, so don’t say-“

 

“No, that’s not what I meant, it’s just-“ Steve waved a hand and made a face.

 

“Circular?  I don’t get your little military hand signs, Cap.”

 

“Expensive,” Steve gulped.

 

Tony stared at him for about five seconds before he dissolved into laughter.  Steve harrumphed and crossed his arms, waiting for Tony to collect himself.

 

“Steve, I’m a _billionaire_ ,” Tony finally wheezed.  “I can afford a few hundred bottles of nail polish.  Even the designer ones.  Now, come here, before I head back downstairs to the slumber party.  Wait, nail polish.”

 

“Yes Tony, nail polish,” Steve responded, because now Tony had the inspired gleam in his eye that most always had him running off to the workshop, no matter how close to sex they were.

 

“JARVIS, see if you can get Pepper to set up a meeting with marketing and OPI’s designer collections manager.  Not leaving you hanging, soldier,” Tony grinned.  “Now come here.”

 

 

 

They were coming back after a battle when the box arrived.

 

When everyone had showered and debriefed, they had crowded in the elevator to head up to the common living room to await their pizza order, when JARVIS announced, _“Sir, Miss Potts is awaiting for your arrival.”_

 

“Oh, shit.  Steeeeeve, hide me,” Tony tried to climb up Steve’s shoulders, and kicking out, making Bruce and Sam flinch away.

 

“Someone’s in trouble,” Bucky sing-songed.

 

_“She requests that the whole team be present.”_

 

“She’s gonna kill me!  Steve, you’re my boyfriend, you can’t let her!” Tony was now trying to pull the back of Steve’s shirt over himself.

 

“Tony, she wouldn’t kill you.   She loves you even if you drive her blood pressure up.  JARVIS, why does Pepper want to see us all?” Steve asked as he wrestled Tony out of his shirt so it didn’t stretch unevenly or break the seams.

 

 _“A merchandizing meeting, it seems, Captain,”_ JARVIS answered, a hint of humor in his voice.

 

Tony stopped trying to burrow into Steve’s shirt.  “You little shit.”  The door opened before he could get farther.

 

Pepper was seated on one of the couches, lap top on her knees, a dirty, battered white cardboard box that had obviously come in the mail next to her.

 

“Oh, it’s here!” Tony exclaimed with a little dance, jigging his butt as he jumped in place before  grabbing the box and struggling with the packing tape.

 

“Is that an OPI box?” Bruce asked.  “You didn’t seriously buy more-“

 

“Shh, Green Bean, part of the proceeds goes to charity.  Pepper, have the marketing people approved?”

 

“Yes, but they would like your personal seal approval, all of you, before it goes to market.”

 

“What is it?” Steve asked as he carelessly ripped the tape off for Tony.  Tony spared just enough energy to shoot him a half-hearted glare before flipping the box open, and pulling out several plastic displays and sample cards.

 

“May – I – present – the – OPI – Avenger – Designer – Collection!” Tony huffed as he struggled to pull out a pack of nail polish in Iron Man colors.

 

“You didn’t,” Rhodey said.

 

“So did!  Why we didn’t do it before is beyond me.  Look, look, look!” he forcefully shoved the box at Rhodey, and they all settled on the couches and chairs to look.

 

Tony made them pass his package around.  Inside were three bottles of nail polish.  A bright red called **Hot Rod Red** , a bright gold called **Gold-Titanium Alloy** , and clear lacquer called **Arc Reactor** that artfully captured the clear blue of the glow of the arc reactor.  The packaging had a beautiful woman who looked sort of like a tall, busty female version of Tony wearing an Ironette bikini brandishing her hands for all to see her manicure, a knowing smirk on her face.

 

“There was supposed to be another, called **Kiss the Mechanic** , but they couldn’t come up with four for everyone, so they cut it.  Still, they made a limited-edition batch, which we could auction off – ahh-ha!” Tony grunted as he pulled an industrial package filled with a dozen burgundy polishes.  “Pepper, take one.”

 

“I’d rather not,” Pepper chimed.  “It’s not in my approved palate.  Okay, one for special occasions,” she consented to Tony’s pout, accepting the entire package, and striding to the kitchen to fetch the scissors.

 

“Bruce next!  Aww, look, both of you!” The package had the same model in two poses, one with green face paint and a purple bikini and making a supposedly-ferocious face as she display her clawed hands, the other of the same woman wearing beige slacks and an open lab coat, biting the frame of some prop glasses.  The colors were **Suzi Says Smash!** , a Hulk green, **Teeny-Tiny Purple Shorts** , which was an embarrassing shade of plum, and the more subdued **Mild-Mannered Doctor By Day . . .** which was a grayish beige, which Steve couldn’t see anyone actually wanting to wear, but it seemed Bruce appreciated the thought (he sometimes complained about how there was nothing for Bruce, only Hulk).

 

“Thanks Tony.  Never thought I’d have nail polish named after me.  Either of me,” Bruce said, pulling the lacquers out for closer inspection.

 

“Steve next!” Clint crowed from the back of the couch, and Tony gleefully scrambled for a package in the always-familiar red, white, and blue.

 

“Would have loved to have Steve polish, but it had to be the Captain.”  Tony sounded sorry as he handed him the package, showing a woman wearing a cut-off version of the suit that he had seen similar versions of around Halloween.  He did appreciate how they had set the model’s fake blond hair in victory curls, though.

 

Steve laughed in spite of himself.  They hadn’t deviated from the red, white and blue formula, called here **Old Glory** , **Antique White** , and **Blue Me Up** , but they were nice shades that matched the actual flag, more subtle than the bright colors he usually saw in official merchandise.  The packaging also declared that there were tiny white star applications.

 

“Ha, they even got to make fun of your age in nail color,” Tony sassed, until Steve kissed him, in thanks and to shut him up.

 

“I am comfortable in my age, thank you.”

 

“Is that a challenge?  Pepper, call the people back, tell them to come up with a like, I don’t know, **Refined Silver** or **Sugar Daddy** or some shit.  Pepper.  Pep.  Peppeeeerrrr,” but she continued to ignore him.  Smart lady.

 

“I think this might just be a repackaged Fourth of July collection,” Natasha smirked, prodding the package.

 

“I don’t care, gotta get this for my _Captain America_ collection,” Sam muttered as he snatched it, followed by pretty much everyone else making noises of agreement.

 

“Who’s next?” Steve asked, face burning.

 

Thor apparently.  His were **Ass-gardian** , a rich red, **God(dess) of Fab** , a multicolored rainbow glitter, and **Would You Like To Hold My Hammer?** , which was a stormy grey.

 

“Oh, my brother would have appreciated these cosmetics!  Possibly, he would have demanded his own set!” Thor boomed.

 

“No villain polishes!” Tony squawked, throwing a cotton ball from the manicure tray, which Bruce had pulled out from under the coffee table to put the bottles in when they were done.

 

“Still, I must send some to my lovely Jane!  I would appreciate seeing her in my colors!  Lady Pepper, when may I order some?” and Pepper had to explain that they would probably give Thor as many as he wanted.  Thor then busied himself with making a list of all the people in his life that he should send the polish to.  Apparently, Jane, Darcy, Selvig, and some lady who ran a café in New Mexico would be set for life.

 

Natasha’s was next.  She demanded that the model on hers be given a less-revealing cat suit, but looked very touched by the colors. **Black Widowed** was the glossy color of French Jet, **Siberian Night** was a midnight blue, and **Blood of My Enemies** was a blood-red that was probably going to be her trademark color from now on.

 

Clint and Sam got into a squabbling fight over the fact that **Caw Caw, M*therf*cker** , a glittery black, was included in both of their packages.  Clint’s other colors were **Very Fletching** , a pale lavender, and **Assassinista** , a violent violet.  Sam had **Falcon Punch** , a deep orange-peach color, and **I Can Fly!** , which was the color of the sky.

 

“Rhodey, even you got one!” Rhodey looked like he wanted to bolt, but he was used to Tony’s harebrained gift ideas like Pepper.  He looked fond as he looked over **Yum! Those Boys in the Force** , which was the dark blue that matched his Air Force uniform, **Cool Colonels Don’t Look at Explosions** , a fiery orangey-red glitter polish, and **War Machine ROX** , the gunmetal grey of the original suit.

 

“Thanks, Tones.  Promise to wear it for my birthday?”

 

“Pedicure and all!  And now,” Tony aggrandized, obviously bursting to reveal the last set.  “Obviously, mine was best, but this one’s not bad.”

 

Bucky, who had been hovering near the edge of the room, darted forward when Tony presented the last box with a flourish.  Steve only had time to see the red star emblazoned on the side before Bucky was tearing it open with trembling fingers.

 

“This – this is _mine?_ ” Bucky asked incredulously, voice shacking as much as his fingers as he pulled out the tiny bottles.

 

“Well, you’re an Avenger, aren’t you?  Should have your own – _ohpfff!_ ” Tony huffed as Bucky pulled him into a bone-crushing hug that drove their air from his lungs.  “No, stop,” Tony’s words were muffled by the metal shoulder.  “It’s nothing-“

 

But it wasn’t nothing.  No matter what Tony said about branding, merchandizing, or looking cool, this was all for Bucky.

 

 **Hey, Sarge!** was the olive drab of the 1940’s dress uniform, **Need Some Ammunition?** was a bright silver, and **Former Soviet Star** was a version of the clear gloss with sequins that Bucky loved so much, with white dots and red five-point stars.

 

Bucky had the glitter polish out, and was about to start taking his current polish off with the remover, when he stopped and stared

 

“These models-“  Bucky tapped the model on his, a brunette wearing a black leather jacket covered in buckles and army green cargo pants, and sliding sunglasses back into her hair.  “Could they possibly be, um, changed?”

 

“To whom?” Pepper inquired.

 

“Well, I, uh-“

 

“It’s for charity, right?” Tony cut over Bucky’s blustering, eyes lighting up.

 

Pepper sighed.  “Tony, you know I never like what you have planned when you ask that.”

 

“Come on, Pepper, it’s for charity.”

 

Pepper let her head thunk against the back of the couch.  “I have CEO work to do.  I don’t have time to schedule Avengers nail polish photo shoots.”

 

The entire room chorused “Come on, Pepper, it’s for charity!” and she sighed in defeat.

 

 

 

The news people were all over the photos produced from the shoot.  All of the pictures chosen were close-ups of the polish on everyone’s nails.  Tony and Rhodey had retracted the fingers from the gauntlets to show off their manicures, Steve had gripped the edge of his shield to display the color, Clint had shown off **Assassinista** on his toes by showcasing his ability to fire his bow with his feet, Natasha pulled her triggers, and Bucky held up a tight metal fist, the tips painted proudly.

 

It was the biggest fashion story of the year.  The OPI Avenger Designer Collection became a sellout with several colors becoming part of the regular rotation, and they decided to produce several other limited edition colors, including **Oh Captain! My Captain!** , **A-sass-inated** , and **OPI Avenges!** , which everyone argued over who the real inspiration was. 

 

Bucky won.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, stupidness over! Now I want all of these.
> 
> What do you think?


End file.
